THE TRAIL OF FOUR
THE TRAIL OF FOUR
Manjiri Prabhu
© Manjiri Prabhu, 2017
First published, 2017
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Disclaimer: Archbishop Firmian, and later, Max Reinhardt, did actually own the Schloss Leopoldskron, but the Trail of Four and the events mentioned in the novel along with the characters are all a work of fiction and bear no intentional resemblance to either real people or incidents. Also, although the locations mentioned in the novel are real, the incidents that take pace there are purely fictitious and no harm, malice, or slur is intended.
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Dedicated to
the Salzburg Global Seminar,
for everything they do to
bring about a change
in this world….
Contents
Prologue
Part I: Air
Part II: Water
Part III: Earth
Part IV: Fire
Acknowledgements
Often you write books but once in a while, if you are lucky, a book happens to you….
‘The Trail of Four’ happened to me, out of the blue, as if it was destined to be born….
To add to it, when a book happens to you in a country which is not your home, you have to make a home in that country. An impossible task made very easy by some special people. My temporary abode was in Salzburg, Austria, at the Hotel Leopoldskron owned by the Salzburg Global Seminar. But a hotel can only feel like home when people unhesitatingly extend their generosity and warmth.
A heartfelt thank you to Stephen L. Salyer (President and Chief Executive Officer) and Clare Shine (Vice President and Chief Program Officer) of Salzburg Global Seminar. It was an amazing experience…the luxury of having the time to research and write, and the rare pleasure of pampering myself as a writer at Hotel Schloss Leopoldskron. I experienced both here, accompanied by the abundant warmth from the staff and participants….
My novel was blessed when it attracted a reciprocal enthusiasm from someone who understood it. I am eternally grateful to Thomas Biebl, Director of Marketing and Communications - the one person without whom this novel would not have been written in the first place. His complete faith in my capacity as an author, his commitment to the novel’s needs and the resources he made available for the extensive research, was amazing. His patience at my umpteen queries, his personal involvement in the unfolding of the novel—he completely understood and responded to the creative process of writing a novel and its dictates. In short, he personally ensured that I had no excuse to NOT write the novel!
It was a privilege working with Thomas.
A special mention to Maria Biebl, Thomas’ mother who drove me around the city and even lit a candle with me in the Maria Plain Church. I am grateful to Maria - her hospitality and love towards a stranger will be forever remembered.
I owe a huge thanks to Daniel Szelényi, General Manager of Hotel Schloss Leopoldskron, who hosted me at the famous palace like royalty and ensured my comfort at all times. His insights into the Schloss and its workings too were invaluable.
Thanks to Jan Heinecke, Louise Hallman, Jonathan Elbaz, Richard Aigner and Charles Ehrlich for their timely inputs and suggestions.
Special thanks to Historian Johannes Hofinger who took time out to share his indepth knowledge on the history of the Schloss. I would also like to acknowledge the several books and multiple online sites that I referred to for research.
The private Chapel and the Bed & Breakfast in the book were inspired by Caroline and Roland Ettenauer-Flöckner’s private Chapel and their delightful Bed and Breakfast Haslaschmühle. I owe them my thanks for allowing me to feature their home and Chapel in my novel.
Knowingly or unknowingly, some of the people I met in Salzburg, may have slid quietly into the book, in the form of some characters or traits. I do hope they enjoy meeting themselves in the story!
I am very grateful to my rock-star literary agent Suhail Mathur of ‘The Book Bakers’ who never gave up. He was determined, knew he could do it and he did it!
Deep gratitude to Bloomsbury Publishing, Rajiv Beri and the fantastic and efficient Paul Vinay Kumar for believing in this novel and giving it a chance to breathe in the big, big world.
And finally, while I enjoyed traipsing around fascinating Salzburg, my family back home held my personal fort in my absence. Thank you to my whole family – Bipinchandra Chaugule – my ever supportive husband, Leena, Sonia, Purnima – the best sisters anyone can ever have, my brother Rajeev who introduced me to Salzburg Global Seminar in the first place, my sister-in-law Deepa, and of course my mom Shobha – you are my world! My family has been my emotional backbone, respecting my solitude when I wished it and enveloping me in warmth when I needed it.
My adorable furry babies Tuggy and Miku – thank you for making my life meaningful….
I owe my million thanks to Schloss Leopoldskron, its lake and the city of Salzburg. The magnificent palace and the charming city, steeped in history and emanating vibrant energy inspired me not only during my visit but also sustained me in the following year until I finished writing the novel.
And finally, my heartfelt gratitude to the Universe and God…who knew it right from the beginning and who made it happen…in the form of Re, Stefan, Isabel, Dan and others…in the form of ‘The Trail of Four’.
Prologue
1937, Schloss Leopoldskron,
Salzburg, Austria
Max Reinhardt stood by the edge of the lake, staring vacantly across the vast expanse of shimmering water. Overlooking it was the Untersberg, the mountain whose face reflected smudged and dark over the surface of the lake. Along the banks, the lit torches perched like active sentinels, their flames making elongated reflections that undulated on the deep blue-green water. On the other side of the lake, shadowy shapes splashed with twilight orange, dipped and rocked against the gentle waves. The gondolas were waiting.
Max, a small stocky man, flung a restive hand through his wavy hair. As he turned his back to the lake, he raised sad, blue eyes to the Schloss, a hint of nostalgia in them. How magnificent it looked! Like an eternal bride in glitter and gold. Inside, the candles an
d chandeliers would be lit and the entire décor would scintillate under the stucco ceilings. The servants in red and gold livery would be serving caviar, venison, champagne and burgundy. The guests would be conversing about theatre, peace and politics, shying away from alluding to the terror that was drawing closer with every passing day.
The Schloss was beautiful and serene, as the sky reveled in the last stains of the pink and orange glow. The palace seemed to have a character of its own. A mind of its own, Max realized, for the umpteenth time. He still remembered the day he had first laid eyes on it. A pastel white building, struggling to hold its own, the walls torn and tattered, the forty sparsely furnished rooms, shabby and neglected, crying out for attention. Once the Archbishop Firmian’s magnificent residence—now an apology for a palace.
Something had tugged at Max’s heart and he had made his choice. He had bought the Schloss in April 1918 and had dashed off a telegramme to Helene announcing his purchase. That had been the best decision of his life. The Schloss had taken possession of his heart like nothing had before. It had transformed him. It had got him to do things. It had demanded the changes, displaying a subtle, urgent need to move beyond its ravaged years. And he had allowed himself to be sucked into the whirl of transformations. Without sparing any expense, he put in new rooms, new features, a grand new park—and his favourite installation, a library with his very own secret staircase leading to it. Concerts, theatre performances, serenades by the lake; the Schloss had created so many careers, ignited so many affairs—it was the perfect baroque dream.
A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He had given the Schloss a new soul as well—a part of his own soul.
But now he would have to forego it all. Forever. Max’s heart was heavy. He turned back to face the lake, staring out at the twilit edge of trees bordering the opposite bank. Not the slightest doubt lingered in his mind. He had to leave. Not just quit the Schloss forever but also Salzburg. There, he had uttered its name. He would never ever return to his beloved city, the one that had shaped his art, treated his artistic endeavors with the fondness of a parent and embraced his energy, experimental imagination and talent with warmth and encouragement. Like he had once remarked: ‘Salzburg war die Heimat seines Herzens’—Salzburg was the home of his heart.
Memories reeled through his mind of his struggle and eventual recognition as an actor—how they had applauded his playing of an old man at a very young age! Max practised what he preached: Always act the part and you can become whatever you wish to become. The principle had touched on everything he did—as an actor, as a producer and as a director—experimenting, innovating, symbolizing.
And then Jedermann had happened along with the Salzburg Festival…
Salzburg Festival, his vision but also the vision of his close associates, playwright Hugo von Hofmannsthal, and Composer Richard Strauss – his partners in realizing the most ambitious music festival of all times…Max could clearly visualize that afternoon in August 1920. He had directed Hugo’s adaptation of Jedermann. Max had obtained permission for it to be staged on the enclosed square before the cathedral. It had been an instinctive decision to perform the play at the cathedral, Max reminisced. There was something about churches which had always appealed to him. And it was not just their beauty. It was the magnificent combination, almost sensuous, of the play of light and sound and visuals, the surreal throw of candleglow, the reverberating music, the dark, hidden corners behind intricate edifices and the gleam which bounced off gilded sculptures…the cathedral had been a natural choice for the performance.
Archbishop Dr Ignaz Rieder had accepted his request warmly. Even then, that afternoon everything seemed to be uncertain—the weather, the unrest in the city and the possibility of a hunger revolt. But suddenly the sun had come out, seeming to bless the play. And what a resounding success it had been! The performance had begun late in the afternoon and by the time it had closed, in the fading light of the setting sun, the crowd, in their thousands, was enthralled by the performance. Max had enjoyed every moment of it—the echoing ‘voice of God’ from the cathedral’s dome, the ringing of the church bells from the towers, the ghostly voices from the church steeples, the red devil springing from within the audience, the characters coming alive in the open air of the cathedral and, finally, the funeral in the evening shadows…a complete baroque work of art, for the first time ever in the cathedral’s square, he thought proudly. So much hard work but worth every minute of it. The traffic had stopped outside and people closer were stunned into reverential silence. Never had they witnessed anything quite as overwhelming a spectacle as Jedermann.When the play ended, the archbishop, who was sitting in the front row, had wiped a hand over his wet eyes, as had most in the audience. It was a moment to be cherished and remembered.
It was as vivid in his memory as if it had happened yesterday. The play had become the symbol of the most ambitious music events of all times, the Salzburg Festival.
But why was he thinking of all that now? Even as the question formed in his mind, he knew the answer. He was like a man on his deathbed, witnessing the past events of his life play themselves out again in his last moments on earth. And this moment in time was so much like dying…he hadn’t felt the same pain even when the theatres were seized by the Nazis. This was different though. This time, he had to quit his beloved Schloss.
How he would miss it all…the brilliance of the lighting, the warmth of the fire in the Library on a frosty evening, his study with the sacristy cabinet that had once belonged to Archbishop Firmian and the sunny roof of the castle where he took his walks, his park and the lovely birds that made it their home, and the Hercules Pond, the scent of lavender and rose—all the delights that had served to release the tensions caused by the war, his failing marriage and Edmund’s health. …He would miss it all… Earlier, before he departed from the Schloss, he would sit from late in the night to the wee hours of the morning, surrounded by suitcases, writing out detailed instructions to everyone, especially Adler. How he envied anyone staying on at the Schloss after summer. But now, his jealousy seemed just a fragment of the tenfold fear and anxiety that seemed to rip him apart. Soon, the Nazis would seize the Schloss and God alone knew what they would do to it.
What would the Nazis do to his Schloss? He shuddered at the thought.
And it got all the more worse, because he had to depart now. Regrettably now…when everything was set. The timing couldn’t have been more wrong. All preparations for the party were in swing, invitations sent out and most important, his trail was set, a trail laid especially for his friends from the worlds of theatre, film and music. The cream of the world’s creative people were going to receive the grandest surprise of all…in his Trail of Four. How he had enjoyed laying it out!
The gondolas were waiting to ferry in the guests, the Marble Hall was equipped with delicacies, the Venetian Room sparkled like never before. The trail was awaiting its discovery. But of what use was it all now? He would have to leave; his tasks unfinished, his trail undiscovered and his dreams unlived.
Max stared at the flickering glow of the torches which bordered the bank of the Schloss lake shore. The glittering water with the smudgy reflection of the Untersberg, the mountain—a witness to the glory of the Schloss. A witness to the baring of his soul, to his discovering of creative joys, to his very existence.
Max inhaled the night air and scents deeply and wheeled around. Tears glistened in his eyes. He threw one last look at the palace. ‘Verzeih mir!’ His whisper caught in his throat. Forgive me…
Part I
AIR
Chapter 1
4th and 5th October 2015
A plunge into the future? The wild question sprung to mind as his gaze skimmed the countryside.
Salzburg lay like a trellised red-and-green map far below him. The sky was a beautiful clear blue, with a hint of delicate pink, and ravens dotted the almost translucent backdrop. When the cable car had soared upwards during the last leg of the journe
y up the mountain, Re had experienced a moment of panic. It had been a smooth if steep climb, but the swaying of the car had made his heart lurch, although he knew there was no reason for that.
Now on the top of the Untersberg mountain, drinking in the cold fresh air and breathtaking view, Re was glad he had made the trip. He inhaled the fresh air deeply. He could almost feel the cool breath travel all the way through the nose into his body. Like cool fingers, feeling their way into the insides. Momentarily, he grinned. It was a relief to smile. He felt his facial muscles expand and relax. It felt good. Especially since the lines on his forehead seemed to be permanently creased in worry. Ever since that feeling gripped him a week ago.
It was in his apartment in Paris, the only place in the world where he felt at home, and where he had never, ever before, experienced this feeling of premonition. His suitcase had been packed and ready for the early morning flight to Mumbai. He had been lounging on the sofa watching the late-night Hindi serial but his mind had been distracted. Memories of his last trip to India, two years earlier, weighed heavily on his mind. He had met his father after five years and the reunion had been far from either loving or pleasant. Why would it be any different this time? Re dreaded meeting him again, especially now since he was unwell. He felt no emotional connect with his father. But his mother had insisted he visit and Re had reluctantly agreed. He was in-between jobs anyway. A quick trip to India could help him garner some new assignments from his Indian colleagues, he had reasoned.
The dialogues between the characters in the serial had droned on in the background and he had no idea when he had dozed off into a deep slumber. The book he had been trying to read simultaneously had slid to the floor, lying face down, a couple of pages crumpled under their own weight. As if by magic, the palace rose, tall and elegant before his eyes, a translucent mist swirling around it. How mesmerizing it looked! Just as he remembered it…Schloss Leopoldskron. And then he saw it—a dark cap of dense grey perched on top of the beautiful edifice, like an ugly, evil crown. He had woken with a jerk, his heart thudding, disorientation slowly turning to consciousness. It was the vision. A clear picture of things to be. And Re had known, like he had on all the other occasions: he had to change plans, cancel his ticket to India and head to Salzburg immediately. Schloss Leopoldskron needed him.
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